Chapter 3: Another Crassus

Elara

Seven hours on the road and the window had become my whole world.

Trees. Road. Trees again. I watched it all blur past without really seeing any of it, my thoughts moving faster than the truck and in far worse directions.

“I know how you're feeling right now,” Mom said. “But we don't have much choice.”

“You don't,” I said. Simply. Because she didn't.

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “I understand, baby. But listen, if you're worried about them, I won't let any of them near you. Helena won't either. And if someone tries anything--”

“Mom.” I turned from the window. “I'm twenty.” I faced forward again. “And whoever thinks they can come at me is welcome to try. I'll shove their head so far up their own ass they'll wish they don't cross me.”

Mom was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “I know you will.”

And she did. That was the thing. She'd watched the change happen in real time over the past two years.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem wasn't bullies or old classmates or any of the cruelties I'd survived the first time around. The problem was that I'd built something, a home, a version of myself I actually recognized, and we'd packed it up overnight.

I turned back to the window and didn't say anything else. Because going back now, I don't plan to be thrown around in Redridge anymore.

***

Mom pulled over at the part of the pack I barely knew. I hadn't come to this side much before, too caught up in books, always chasing the next one, never looking up long enough to learn much about my environment. But stepping out of the truck, I could feel even without familiarity that things had shifted.

I was reaching back into the truck for my bag when the front door of a nearby house swung open.

And an older warm-faced woman came out, moving quickly for her age, a watering can still dripping from her hand that she abandoned completely the moment her eyes landed on us. She came across us at something close to a run.

“You really came, Ember.” She pulled my mom in and kissed both her cheeks, holding her by the arms after like she needed to confirm she was real. “I thought you'd changed your mind. I've been expecting you for over a week.”

“Things got worse faster than I expected,” she said. “I couldn't wait it out any longer.”

“No,” Helena agreed. “No, you couldn't.” Her gaze shifted to me, and she looked for a long moment, “This must be Elara.” A small smile. “No one could miss it. You look exactly like your mother. Almost like she's running away from herself.”

I gave what I hoped read as a smile and not whatever my face was actually doing.

Helena caught it anyway. “Not much of a talker,” she said, not unkindly. “That's alright. Come on, let's get you settled. We have a great deal to catch up on, but first things first. We need to get you both registered.”

I frowned. “Registered?”

“Things have changed since you left, sweetheart. Especially since Alpha Crassus arrived.”

Alpha Crassus.

Something about that name nagged at me. It seemed like Jason's endless posturing had finally paid off, all those years of puffing himself up about becoming Redridge's Alpha the moment he hit twenty-two finally came to pass. What a depressing outcome for everyone else.

“Alpha Crassus,” Mom repeated beside me, and her voice had changed completely, almost like a flinch she was managing. “You mean Alpha Damon Crassus?”

Helena nodded. “He returned about a month ago. Took over the pack.” She led us toward the front door, speaking over her shoulder. “With everything happening, the smaller packs folding, people seeking protection under larger ones, the Alpha mandated full registration. New members, returning members everyone. Proper headcount and identification.”

“Oh,” so not Jason. Someone else entirely. Which would've been a breath of fresh air if it isn't another Crassus, whoever that was and clearly someone my mother knew, based on the way the blood had quietly left her face

I filed that away.

I didn't actually care about anyone named Crassus. The only thing I cared about right now was getting through the next twenty-four hours without my chest caving in.

We went inside. The house smelled of warm herbs.

Helena took Mom to one room and then brought me down the hall to another.

Small. Clean. with a table, a chair, a window with a decent view of the back garden, and a bed sized for exactly one person.

“You'll be comfortable here,” Helena said from the doorway. Then, reading something in my expression she probably wasn't meant to see: “You don't need to worry. You can still hold off on registering till tomorrow.” A pause. “Go shower, sweetheart. Dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you,” I said. And meant it.

She nodded once and left me to it.

****

I lasted twenty-five minutes inside the room before the walls started feeling like they were leaning in.

Unable to bear it, I slipped out quietly. Mom had told me not to go near the forest and I wasn't planning to. I just needed air.

I found the training post almost by accident. I hadn't known this place existed when I lived here before.

But then I'd spent most of my time in Redridge with my nose in a book, eyes down, making myself as small and forgettable as possible.

I rolled my shoulders and threw the first punch at the training pillar.

The impact shuddered up my forearm and settled something behind my sternum. I threw another. Faster. The way Andy had taught me, weight through the hips, don't telegraph, follow through.

Again.

Again.

“You fight like you're angry at the world.”

I stopped mid-strike.

The voice came from behind me, low, unhurried, with the particular quality of someone who was used to speaking and being listened to.

I turned.

He was leaning against the wooden fence at the edge of the clearing, arms folded across his chest, watching me with the settled patience of someone who'd been there long enough to form an opinion.

He was all genuinely tall, the kind that registered in the body before the brain caught up. Broad through the shoulders, a strong jaw that looked like it had been cut rather than grown. Tracing that hard line was a stubble-short beard, shot through with just enough silver. It was meticulously trimmed.

He was, objectively, unreasonably attractive.

And his scent hit me a half-second after I registered the rest of him. Cedar and something darker underneath. The kind of scent that made some ancient, unhelpful part of my brain want to lean toward it and melt in his arms like I belonged there.

I told that part to shut up.

Every instinct I had snapped to attention.

“Watching strangers train at night?” I said flatly. “Is that a hobby here, or just yours?”

One brow lifted. He didn't look impressed. He didn't look offended either. He just looked at me.

“You're new,” he said.

“What if I am?” I kept my voice level. “Does knowing that get you to leave, or at least stop staring?”

Instead of answering, he pushed off the fence and walked toward me. Moving through the space like it already belonged to him and he was simply choosing to share it.

Every alarm in my body went off at once.

“You shouldn't be out here alone on your first night back,” he said calmly.

“And you shouldn't sneak up on people,” I said, “unless you want a broken nose.”

The faintest curve touched one corner of his mouth.

“I was offering advice.” he said, his eyes, the darkest green I've seen drifting down my face and trailing downward.

“I didn't ask for any. And keep your eyes up.”

He not only did not listen, he also took another step toward me.

My hand came up and met his expectedly firm chest, stopping him clean. He was warm through the fabric. Solid in a way that was slightly annoying.

I held his gaze, “Take one more step,” I said, “and I promise you won't be having children anytime soon.” I said, though I'm a little over half this man's size. Which made my threat almost ridiculous.

The silence lasted exactly one breath.

Then he laughed a low and genuine one, starting somewhere in his chest. Like I'd actually surprised him, and he didn't mind being surprised.

“Noted,” he said.

Our eyes stayed locked. And something moved in the space between us instinctive, wordless, and entirely inconvenient. My pulse kicked up in a way I had no patience for. I swallowed it down.

“I don't know who you think you are,” I said, stepping back and away, “but stay out of my way.”

I turned and walked.

But I felt his gaze on my back long after the dark closed around me.

However, the worst part of it all wasn't his gaze, but the undeniable heat pooling between my legs.